He Came to Save Her
by Love to be Curious
Summary: Taking a break from having her portrait painted, 15 year old Elizabeth decides to row out into the lake, where she has an unfortunate and silly encounter with one William Turner... Pre-COTBL
1. Chapter 1: A Wig in the Way

"Miss Swann, the Queen sends her highest regards to you and the Governor of Port Royal, and Her Majesty also requests you wear this."

Elizabeth swiveled in her seat, her cheeks lightly marked with pink-hued rouge and her eyelashes brimming with a special, shining concealer. She managed to hide her grimace at the ugly, towering thing that bobbled on its stand. "Must I?" she asked.

"Why, yes, Miss. The Queen would also like your portrait sent to her when it is finished. She has heard of your beauty, even at such a young age." The woman's thick French accent clipped her words cruelly, and her narrow beady eyes squared off with the fifteen-year old.

Elizabeth immediately thought of envy glimmering in the lady's eyes, and she gulped down the resistant lump in her throat. Bear that horrid thing? It was enough having to pose for some silly painting, but it was another to elaborate on her costume. "It is not that I do not wish to wear it," she said while thinking the exact opposite. "I have just heard that in England, it is now fashionable to pose in the 'undress' and a wig such as this..." Elizabeth rose from her beige chair, strolling to the French woman's side and caressing the tight white curls. "Well, it may intervene with the beauty of the painting, don't you think?"

"You will wear it by the Queen's orders, Mademoiselle," the woman said, concisely nodding to the maids and then smiling wickedly at Miss Swann.

"Very well, then." Elizabeth grinded her teeth, turned on her heels, and plunked in the seat, her wide panniers creating quite the barrier between two maids as she settled in front of the vanity and pouted at her tousled curls. Elizabeth's loose locks and simple attire was one of the reasons she had ultimately agreed to having blasted portrait done and now it was all to shame. Her father would have no say in the matter with that beastly French woman at the head of the operation, and she lightly groaned as the wig was placed on the counter. Estrella bent her knees to face the girl, prepared to resume in masking Miss Swann's countenance.

"There are also accessories," the French woman added, this time a little sweeter, as if trying to coax the girl into liking her.

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder to witness one of her lady-maids hoisting a crimson silk pillow with several items gently pressed into place. Roses, light blue and pink ribbons, and... She could not contain her laughter at the sight of the last item that possessed its own pillow. "I'm to wear a ship in my hair?" Elizabeth chortled, covering her mouth with one hand as she stared at the large, foot-long vessel that included flowing sails and black portholes.

"Yes, the Queen herself wore one at her last birthday," the foreign lady said, her high cheekbones seeming to rise in fashion, proud that she had attended that lovely event.

"Oh," Elizabeth said, chuckling as she imagined herself hanging among other portraits in England, a ship poised partially in her artificial curls and a mischievous grin upon her face. "Then, let's have at it," Elizabeth said. If she was going to stand for hours upon end for a single painting...Well then, she would take it in stride with a mighty vessel bouncing on her head.

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The muscles in her neck stretched and ached, the powdered blonde wig stressing every nerve and sending headaches pounding through her head. She wore a tight satin chemise dress with narrow paned sleeves trimmed in light pink and the zone front of the dress crisscrossed across her petite bosom, little bows and ruffles tugged between the white and pink fabrics. She rolled her shoulders and tapped her foot to the quiet tolling of the clock.

One hour.

Two hours.

Three hours.

She stood and waited, and all she could listen to were the constant brushstrokes and scratching of the pencil from the artist. Her hands gripped the leather-backed chair, and the man yelled a French order to which Elizabeth quizzically stared at. Of course, she had learned French, but that was not to say that she absorbed every ounce of it. And... She was out of the habit of practicing, indulging in the better parts of life like wandering around the docks and pestering sailors. He shouted again when Elizabeth tilted her frilly head and then brought her slender hand to recover the wig's wobbling. She held up both hands, and finally, her father entered, interrupted in his studies and staring at the calming scene.

"What is the matter?" her father asked.

"I don't know," Elizabeth said quickly. "He keeps yelling; I don't know what I am doing wrong." She relaxed her posture, allowing herself to sag and inducing more squeaks from the stocky artist. "Oh, shut it," the fifteen-year old said, and her father scowled as he hissed her name and turned to the artist, striking up a brusque conversation with the frustrated painter.

Oh, what she would give to escape even for a quarter of an hour. Her feet felt like she wore lead heels, and a bloating pain bulged behind her left eye, making her squint in the settings. Wouldn't they lose light soon? No, perhaps not. It was quite early; the sun would last. Ten o'clock in the morning. What a time! With one hand propped on her hip, she ambled toward the sealed window, tugged aside the maroon drapes, and stared into the stretching meadows behind the mansion, a small longboat and a medium-sized lake calling her name.

"Elizabeth," Governor Swann interrupted her thoughts, strolling toward her. "It seems it is your lips."

"My lips?" she asked, holding back a little laugh. "What about them?" Of all things to complain of! The lighting, the positioning, or even the colors of her clothes would be normal, but a single feature? It seemed entirely strange.

"He says you are _pouting_ too much, which makes you appear very brooding." Her father hesitantly, yet tenderly, touched her arm. "He only wishes for you to look your best, dear. As do I."

Elizabeth nodded, realizing how menacing she must have looked the past three hours and thought of how angry and drowsy she was at the beginning of the session. She did not meet her father's concerned gaze; instead, she maintained her eyesight on the mead, where a strapping apprentice flung his ax into trees alongside a few other men. She smiled as an idea buzzed in her mind. An excursion would do her good.

"Oh, of course," Elizabeth said with a tinge of sarcasm, tentatively glancing around the artist's palette and then to her previous pose. "Father," she said, fluttering her long eyelashes and flashing a kind smile. "May we pause for a while? Even for just an hour. I must get some fresh air." She inhaled the stifling atmosphere, feeling the plain walls closing in. After a long lapse of silence, her father finally nodded, quickly informing the French artist as Elizabeth scurried from the chamber, forgetting the wobbling vessel atop her head for the moment and bunching material of the wide white skirt into her fists.

She bounded out the door, breezing past a few servants and trotting along the spacious garden's pebbled path. Elizabeth adored the sweet smell of the flowers, but her eyes were on the boy. The young, charming boy out back. Galloping now, the fifteen-year old maneuvered out of the blossoming garden and emerged on the edge of the still lake, halting where the baby-blue lined longboat rested. She scanned the premises, watching for any movement, but the forest was quiet except for the chirping of swallows. With one hand acting as a crutch to her phony locks, Elizabeth sighed, hoping that he would return within minutes.

Deciding she best not waste her time just standing there, the girl pushed the boat into the still water, and realizing her feet would quickly become caked in muck, she chucked her shoes onto the shore and then waded into the shallow water, hoisting her layered skirts over her knees and yanking up her bloomers. She climbed, or rather flopped, into the longboat in a fit of giggles, the two-foot high wig trembling with every movement and the ship swaying in the wind. She positioned the oars on either side and began to row, stroking to the middle of the lake, and then the girl bent at the waist and lay on her stomach, allowing her fingers to caress the drifting lilies and feel the cool water against the tips. She dipped her head against the wooden seat, relaxing the muscles in her neck and relishing in the ecstasy of lying there, doing nothing and not worrying about her governess shouting her name or her father escorting her to society's ridiculous functions. Oh, blessed were her moments alone... Or with someone other than the Lieutenant or the Governor. Her ears pricked at a rustling in the grass; it was a distinct clomping of buckled shoes, the release of a heavy, exhausted breath, and the clatter of wood knocking together. Her ship popped up first, and then gradually, her wig inched up over the boat's edge until her the bridge of her nose was clear, and she squinted in the morning daylight, focusing on the far shore.

She let out a mini-squeal.

There he was!

She crawled to her knees and then, in rapture of seeing him for the first time in several weeks, Elizabeth rose to a standing position and waved to the lad who was her exact age but much more muscular and handsome. Elizabeth screamed his name, gesturing wildly.

He nearly dropped every chopped log, and as he recovered he asked quietly, "Elizabeth?"

"Hello," she said, unevenly rising on her toes. She abruptly remembered her outrageous wig and reached up to steady it when the boat wavered beneath her. Elizabeth picked up one foot then the other, realizing she was haphazardly arranged in the boat, and her heavy skirt was tugging her to one side. The girl outstretched both of her thin arms for balance, immediately realizing the outcome... As she went toppling into the water.

"Elizabeth!" His voice was hoarse and harsh, and William Turner II began to kick off his leather shoes and unbutton his jacket, preparing to plunge into the quavering waters as he cried her name again.

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OT: Well, this came to me the other night when I was watching Marie Antoinette, that lavish, lovely, and colorful film that I adore, even though it does tend to lack in excitement. I thought of how the Queen had her portraits painted with her children and alone, Kirsten Dunst's serene expression when she is at Petite Trianon, gliding in the boat in the calm lake, and just the general air of the movie. And I decided, as the idea formed, it screamed a typical, more than likely predictable, hopefully a _little_ unexpected storyline for Will and Elizabeth when they were young. It may be a little cliche, but I'm all right with that.

I decided that Elizabeth doesn't have much luck with feminine accessories, seeing as the corset is what started the first Pirates movie, and she never seemed to be able to stay in a dress for very long for one reason or another. Why not a wig to prompt and move a story forward?

I also incorporated what Keira Knightley once said in an interview... She said that when she was filming Pride and Prejudice, the director kept yelling at her to "Stop pouting!" And she would have to really think about it to correct herself because it was a natural habit. Seeing as Keira Knightley portrays Elizabeth... I couldn't resist, mate.

This will probably be three or four chapters. Nothing very long. It is just a little story about Will and Elizabeth's interactions as youngins. Hopefully a few chuckles in the following chapter...

I appreciate any reviews! Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2: Friction in the Water

(OT: Thanks for the reviews! Oh yeah, I completely forgot about The Duchess... Seems like an interesting movie D. Anyway... Haha back on topic... This one took a weird turn. Haha. It started out as a simple sweet maybe a little funny fic and now... Well, the characters took me to an entirely different a little dramatic place. Hmph. Well, one or two more chapters to come. Oh...I am so cliche with how I'm ending these chapters. Goodness. No need to tell me. I'm usually not that predictable... At least I hope I'm not.

Anyway, Enjoy! And please review! Love to hear your thoughts!)

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As he ripped off his tweed jacket, Will huskily shouted her name, and his eyes twitched, his gaze shifting from one side of the lake to the other, watching for movement, for a splash, for anything that might imply that Elizabeth was breathing. Nothing but the overturned boat stirred, and he swiftly waded into the soggy mud and plunged headfirst into the water, glancing around the bottom and thrashing to find his dear friend. This wasn't a large lake...Where was she? He surfaced and then dove again, looking for a piece of her dress, her swathed legs, or the bobbing of her unconscious head.

Wiping back her stray tresses and managing to upright the wretched wig for the most part, Elizabeth burst through the water like shattering glass and looked for Will's dashing figure along the forest's edge. No luck.

Bugger.

What would her father say when she told him_ this_ tale? He had hardly believed when she had lost her most recently purchased shoes that entailed pretty rose-shaped satin at the toes... Due to an impromptu, solitary swim a few days before, and now, ruining her dress over some silly boy who hadn't said two words to her for at least a month was a horrible thing to do... Especially when the artist was being paid shilling after shilling to construct a beautiful painting.

Simultaneously, Elizabeth grimaced, hoping that Will didn't shy at her foolish fall, and she whirled in a quick circle, her chemise dress billowing around her like a huge inflatable bubble and her skirt bloating with water as she kicked her thin legs. She looped her arm over the side of the upside-down longboat, contemplating the fact that it would need to be uprighted eventually and it would be extremely difficult to perform the process on her own.

"Will?" Elizabeth asked aloud, her voice trilling and questioning if her friend had fled so quickly. Then, she espied a man's bare feet churning above the surface only a few feet away, plummeting for the opposite side of the lake. What in the world was he doing? The fifteen year old breast-stroked toward the lad, and as he surfaced (with his back to her), groaned, and dove again, she outstretched her right hand and dipped her fingers into his waistband, yanking him back by the trousers as she bellowed his name.

His chocolate brown locks flipped up, and his gaze rotated around the lake. "I have to find Miss—" Will cut himself off, realizing his own impractical reply.

"What are you doing?"

The boy gazed at Elizabeth as her hand slipped out of his black trousers and her eyes searched his blank expression. He then pursed his lips to keep from chuckling, finding her dripping face amusing. The defined rouge had plastered down her cheeks to her chin and the white powder and gigantic wig made her appear like a clown. "Elizabeth?" he asked, swallowing his chuckles as he swiveled and began stroking back toward the longboat.

She dipped her face into the cool water and wiped off the remains of her mask, catching Will's repressed laughing. "You have little faith in my swimming skills," Elizabeth said, pursuing his thrashing trail in the water and struggling to move as fast as he. Pesky layers. She halted and looked to her washboard chest, her trimmed nails fidgeting with the golden buttons as she writhed in the water.

Observing her squirming and then returning his gaze to her delicate face, Will said, "I didn't see you come up so I thought I should..." He trailed off when she growled and slashed the crisscrossed dress apart with her bare hands, flinging it to her arms.

"You thought you should... Save me," Elizabeth said, her eyes still focused on the once gleaming white gown. "I thank you, Kind Sir," Elizabeth added mockingly, her eyes twinkling as the girl tread toward him, rotated, and asked, "Will you pull this off?"

He stared at her waif-form cautiously, swiping back his own silken curls before gripping the dress by the collar. He felt a quick swirl in his stomach and recollected a... less-than-decent and very curious dream he had experienced about Elizabeth only a fortnight ago that involved him removing her gown, except it was extremely dry and much more suitable for the moment. His eyes bulged as it flashed in his mind. The dream still tended to haunt Will when he saw Miss Swann wandering around, and it now was like a reality... But at least it was, fortunately, a distorted reality. For if his dream were to come true, his cheeks would flush even more.

"Well?" Elizabeth asked, her tone impatient and her head swiveling to look at Will. Why did he seem so frightened? It was only a darn dress. One that needed to be removed without delay. "Will, just rip it off. The bloody thing isn't worth anything anymore. I promise."

William followed her directions, prying the sleeves from Elizabeth's arms and shredding the bodice a few times in the process of eradicating the swollen gown. He then stared at the torn white and gold dress as Elizabeth turned in her undergarments, smiling in her actual chemise and somewhat buoyant skirt. "We should turn the boat," he said.

By the expression on his face, Will clearly didn't wish to be in the water any longer, but Elizabeth would not grant him freedom just yet. "Do you like my wig?" Elizabeth asked with a giggle, sucking in her cheeks to make her seem emaciated and rolling her eyes to the sky. "A silly French woman forced me to wear it." With another snort, she yanked the pins from her false hair, ripped the wig into her hands, admired the dilapidated small ship for a moment, and then chucked it to the side as Will did the same with her dress. With her long locks bouncing at her shoulders, Elizabeth tilted back and lay in the water, floating on her back and sighing contently.

As her tousled hair curled around her face, he smiled slightly. She was so beautiful. If only he could touch her for a moment and it would be wonderful, but of course, that would never happen. She was too lovely, and by her father's pushing, she was meant for Lieutenant Norrington. Will suddenly realized he hadn't responded to any question nor made a single comment. "Why did you have to wear it?" Will asked, awkwardly glancing around and draping one arm against the longboat.

"I'm having my portrait painted. I should get back to it." But she remained in the same drifting position, flapping her arms a little to move a little closer to Will. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Will's gaze glide up and down her horizontal figure. Was he... Yes, he most certainly was! A small snicker was emitted. He was actually looking at her stick-figure. Oh! She thought of ways to tease him, but he then, staring into her countenance, smiled so kindly, and she couldn't bear to see him flustered by a simple jest, as he usually became. She lurched forward to an upright position, rising above the water a foot or so from the lunge and flicked the water from her eyes as they floated face-to-face, their tense breath mingling together.

His heart skipped a beat as Elizabeth rose and fell back into the water, for he could see every line of her body and her chemise became particularly transparent when it was wet. His smile remained though as they faced one another, their hands grazing together.

"Shall we?" she asked, and Will realized she was motioning to the boat. He swam to the far side and wrapped both hands under the edge, and he heard Elizabeth do the same.

"On the count of three? One, two... Three!"

The longboat pitched forward, swaying erectly and gasping in tune with his and Elizabeth's grunts. They recovered the trapped oars and hurled them into the boat, now holding the side with one hand fluttering in the water. "Don't you grow tired of swimming in those clothes?" Will asked, taking a quick glance at her translucent wardrobe again, making his spine turn completely ridged.

"Yes, a little, but I am used to it now," Elizabeth replied, catching his gaze and once again considering teasing him about constantly observing the turns of her figure.

"You mean you swim in your underclothes often?" he said with a chuckle, dropping his hand from the boat and moving a little closer to Miss Swann... Miss Elizabeth... Maybe _his_ Elizabeth. She shook her head and grinned as he tread closer. "I have hardly seen you lately," Will said gently.

"I know," she replied, sucking in her stomach subconsciously as he seemed to move even closer. How close would he come? She didn't mind it. She had never minded when her dear friend came into her space because he usually only caused a tremor in her heart and a smile on her face. "Father has made me attend these awful society functions, and James is all right, but he is so... Formal sometimes. I miss playing on the beach with you."

"But we're not children anymore, so it is a bit difficult to do anything without someone watching us together." Will felt her calf brush against his muscular covered leg and then her hand fingered his puffy sleeve, her eyes still on him... Still beckoning him. He smiled.

"How is your apprenticeship coming along? I assume you were in the forest doing something of that sort."

"Gathering wood," he said. "Mr. Brown is a fine teacher when he isn't swaggering around drunkenly. I'm working with two swords now. You should drop by sometime, and I could show you." Conversation emerged so easily. It was so simple talking to this gorgeous girl. He could not help shifting even closer and now they were steadying one another, their hands touching arms and waists briefly.

Elizabeth's breath quivered and her heart did more than a single tremor. It was shuddering and pounding and shrieking in her chest when Will's calloused hand gently fiddled with and then clasped her fingers. "Will," she said, but was unable to finish the sentence, if there ever was one. Elizabeth cleared her throat, feeling his foot kick lightly against her pannier skirt. He murmured an apology, and she half-smiled, her slender hand gliding up his sleeve to his shoulder. She didn't know what was happening or what was going to happen, but she felt ready for anything.

His head tilted at Elizabeth's placid, sweet expression and his hands slipped from her body. No. No. No! What was he doing? And yet, he couldn't stop himself. He thought he might kiss her. He thought he might wrap his rough hand around her waist, pull her close, and then feel her lips beneath his own, but now, he was swimming around the longboat and away from Elizabeth.

"Will," she said. "Where—Where are you going?"

"I think we should..." The words erupted unevenly due to the palpitating of his heart. He was unsteady. "We should pull the boat ashore, and your father could find us any minute." Yes, keep telling yourself that. He hastily gripped the bow of the boat.

"Will," Elizabeth said, confused and entirely anxious. Of all the moments to think of her father and Will Turner had to do it now. She had never desired anyone closer than Will was a moment before, but he didn't... He must not want her. He must just want to _look _at her. Oh, that insolent boy. Elizabeth's eyebrows furrowed, and she thrust her feet angrily as she swam toward the muddy side. Her face flushed with color as both hands rested on her hips. "You can pull that boat by yourself, Mr. Turner." Her dainty feet brushed the grubby bottom of lake, and she trudged up the side, her chemise and wide panniers, looking very humorous indeed, sagging at her waist and clinging to her every curve.

What had he given up to pull a blasted boat onto land? There was surely something wrong with him! "Elizabeth, I didn't mean—" He tried but she viciously swiveled on her heels, her feet sinking into the damp grass. He wanted to scream for her to come back. He wanted to sweep her back into the water and plant wet kisses all over her face, but he couldn't. He couldn't will himself to do anything except to keep tugging that bloomin' longboat ashore, his muscles rippling through his blouse.

"No, Will," she said harshly. "It is fine. Just fine." Wringing the water from her transparent skirt, Elizabeth traipsed up the embankment and returned to the garden's pebble path, shaking her drenched locks and crossing her arms as she shivered against the morning air. Why hadn't it seemed cold in the lake? Probably because of the contact. Because of that lovely contact with William. Why had she thought that he would...Why did she think that Will Turner would kiss her— the spoiled, no-shape, blubbering— Elizabeth Swann? Oh, she was so stupid! She paced for a moment, a chill vibrating up and down her spine and then she heard someone say her name lightly... It was almost a whisper.

Perhaps Will had followed her, and she could apologize and then they could resume... They could take one another's hands, just like in the lake. That would be wonderful. As Elizabeth turned with a smile, she realized that the voice was in the opposite direction of the lake... Which meant it wasn't Will... Which meant that it came from the mansion... Her smile became strangled and then fell.

"Hello, Father."


	3. Chapter 3: Disappointment

(OT: Nice to see you around, QuidditchGirl D Well, a little tension here, my friends. I decided to make Elizabeth a definate Drama Queen at the end, with one of her final thoughts on THIS matter. The next chapter will return to very sweet. Maybe a little Romeo-Juliet, Rapunzel tale hehe. Enjoy and thanks for any reviews!)

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"Elizabeth," he croaked, his withered hands already shaking. "What have you done? You are soaked and your clothes... They are completely soiled."

She felt his gaze drift down her strained expression to her bent, misshapen hoop skirt and her filthy bare feet. Elizabeth wanted to shrivel and die. No matter how much he raved about his lovely daughter, the Governor could still deal out an unpleasant retribution. She nearly placed the blame on Will but then thought better of it. Elizabeth was already sorry for her calloused words, and she did desire to speak with Will again... Preferably when he wasn't splayed with broken bones. The girl calmly wiped the ragged blonde strands from her face, bits of grass clinging to her moist cheeks and forehead, and then she said, "I fell into the lake." Elizabeth rolled her eyes, as if it were such a bother and continued, "I climbed into the longboat, lost my balance, and fell. I'm sorry, Father." Her tone was entirely secure, with a hint of weakness when she said the endearment; she had to milk him while she still had time.

"What is this?"

Elizabeth's eyes bulged. Good lord! Not that awful French woman again.

"You have been swimming? Where is your wig and your gown? Roaming around in your underclothes! How very improper, indeed! Do you really allow your daughter to ignore the calls of society, Governor Swann?" The woman paused only to catch her breath, slithering past the elderly man and leaning into Elizabeth's insipid face. "The Queen specifically said that you must wear those items, and we cannot disappoint Her Majesty, Mademoiselle. Where is the wig? It is the only one we have."

The furious questions of her recent misdeeds. "If you would like to retrieve your precious accessories, then I recommend you remove your own clothing and false hair," Elizabeth said, crossing her arms and glancing to her father's equally disapproving face. What had she gotten herself into? She huffed out a breath of air as the breeze whipped her lucid skirt, sending her panniers eschew again. Elizabeth straightened them, muttering incoherently and considering dropping the skirt right there, in front of her father. He had seen her in worse conditions.

"I beg you pardon?" the foreign woman cried.

Elizabeth threw her pointed thumb over her shoulder. "They are in the lake, Madame, and by my word, that hideous wig is rather ruined by now. Pity, in't it?" she asked with a laugh, and her father stalked toward her.

"Elizabeth, where is your sense of propriety?" He gestured with both hands as the fifteen year old slumped and gritted her teeth, her stare on the efflorescent flowers. "I granted you one hour to do whatever you pleased and you end up completely drenched."

"Whatever I pleased?" Elizabeth asked impatiently. "Father, that is hardly what I was 'granted.'" She regretted the words; she knew her father was merely attempting to form a position in society and do what was best for his single daughter. But they emerged even so, and she couldn't shove them back in her mouth just yet. "Now, if you would excuse me, I must change." Coiling white material up to her waist, Elizabeth carried the skirt as she strolled toward the double doors.

"Elizabeth," Governor Swann said. "You owe Madame Parrish an apology."

Elizabeth balked mid-stride and spun on her muddy heels. "Please forgive me, Madame Parrish," she said, almost gently. "For not letting my issues with my costume be known previously." The girl flashed a malicious smile as the French woman harrumphed and tilted her towering auburn hair away, and Elizabeth outstretched her hand for the doorknob.

"Elizabeth!"

Her spine stiffened and her eyes cast to the ground. She realized an extensive, scathing scolding was to be bellowed at any moment and her frivolous privileges would be withdrawn within minutes, but instead, she heard her father's heavy breathing and the thumping of another's feet. She swiveled around. Oh, no. She must be dreaming.

"Elizabeth, you forgot... Your... Shooes." The word elongated as the young man's eyes swelled.

"Mr. Turner? What are you doing here?"

Will fumbled with the frills on the simple white heels, nearly dropping them when he saw the small throng gathered around Elizabeth. He watched her expression crumble, and if he were not mistaken, tears welled in her beautiful doe-eyes. "I...I..." He stuttered, unable to conjure a valid excuse for the droplets of water that dribbled from his brown locks and down his equally drenched stitched jerkin. What timing he had. Always startling, interrupting, and causing chaos. Wonderful. A gargled noise popped out of his throat, but words still refused to come. A woman, piercing and infuriated, glowered at him. Ah, that must be the French woman. He nodded to her in the most polite way possible.

"You were frolicking with a boy?" she said. "My, Governor, what a scandalous person your daughter has become." And with that, Madame Parrish, her nose high and her eyes glimmering, exited the scene and returned to the large abode.

She released the skirt from her hands, and her fingers harshly pressed against her cheeks and slid down to the water trickling down her neck. Why did he have to come now? He mouthed an apology as the Governor strode over to his daughter and guided her alongside Will. The trio was silent, glancing from one person to the other, their eyes soft and unyielding. William placed the shoes in Elizabeth's hands, lightly squeezing her index finger as she grasped them.

"Elizabeth, Mr. Turner," Governor Swann's words were so tentative. The pair knew he did not really want to know what they were doing, no matter its innocence. "I have never seen such terrible behavior from both of you. I realize you are young, but, and I cannot stress this enough, you must concede with your priorities before you run off to play. Do you not understand that?"

"Will came to save me," Elizabeth said. Perhaps the truth could set a person free. "When I toppled into the lake, Will saw me and thought I would drown. He tried to save me." Repeating words sometime helped. Yes, his expression did relax a bit.

"And it took him over an hour to find you?" Governor Swann asked. Ah, Elizabeth occasionally forgot how she wasn't incredibly good at reading her father. "I might expect this from you," he said to his young daughter, his eyebrows arching. "But I have never known you to act so irrationally, Mr. Turner. I am disappointed."

Those were the worst words Will had ever heard. If it was one thing that nagged him, it was when he upset a person, especially when that person dealt with Miss Swann. "Sir, I do apologize, but I did believe that your daughter was—"

"Nonetheless, Mr. Turner, I believe it would be better if you and my daughter no longer spoke with one another for a time."

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. "No!" she screamed, her hands quivering and her petite chest heaving in frustration. This was unbelievable. Was he even listening? "You can't do that! This wasn't Will's fault. I chose to row out to the lake. And you intend on punishing my rescuer? You're insane!"

"Mr. Turner," Governor Swann said, looking past his exasperated daughter. "It is time for you to take your leave. Send my regards to your master." He placed his hand on Elizabeth's frail shoulder in a comforting way, but the girl glided out from under his weathered hand.

How could he be so brutal? Will was one of her dearest friends, and he was trying to ruin her life. "Mr. Brown is not his master," Elizabeth dared to correct. "He is Will's teacher." With her hands swathing her face, the fifteen year old charged through the open doors, allowed the pretty shoes to clank to the floor, and swerved through the study, clamoring up the staircase to her bedchamber.

Will's expression leaked with sorrow. He hadn't meant for this to happen. He hadn't intended to grow so close to the governor's daughter or dream of kissing her pouted lips at night. He felt a piece of him crinkle, shred, and fall to the earth. He said, "I swear, Governor, I was just trying to—"

"You are dismissed, Mr. Turner."

Will solemnly nodded and trudged back toward the lake, recovering his shoes, jacket, and the fallen blocks of wood before trotting toward the blacksmith shop with his mind full of furious and penitent thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4: Escape his Clutches

(OT: I'm terribly terribly terribly sorry for the lack of updates! I have been so swamped that I haven't had time to write anything creative. I said I would probably only do one more chapter, but since you have been so kind as to leave reviews and HOPEFULLY keep reading, I have decided to add this one and another instead. I changed the final idea and separated into two chapters. This one, finished, and the other still bottled in my mind. This one is Elizabeth's POV while the other will be Will's.

I have also been concocting a new idea for a new fanfic, but I haven't decided if I will go through with it, so I was wrestling with that idea as well. It would follow Elizabeth and Will through the course of the first movie, as well as scenes that were deleted or ones that I create(!)... But I don't know if it would suit the audience. Although, people seemed to like my DMC/AWE fic similiar to that idea...But... I'm still contemplating.

Anyway, sorry for the rambling. So, enjoy, and thanks for waiting!)

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Elizabeth shimmied out of her moist clothes, finally feeling the water seeping through her pores and down into the marrow of her bones. What a mess she had made of things. She stepped around the heap of white garments, sullied with brown mud and tinged with a foul algae-green color, and immediately settled on leaving them there. Oh, she could call for her dutiful maids who scurried at her beck and call, but perhaps a good scolding would bring things back into focus. The fifteen year old strolled to the coat rack, tugged away the thin dressing robe and wrapped it around her little body, tying it loosely at the waist. She halted in front of the short mirror, hardly large enough to see her upper body, but her hair, although unfastened and tossed around her gaunt shoulders, was a hideous clump of dirt and mucky water. Her nose crinkled as she chuckled at her appearance and withdrew a baleen-bristled brush from her nightstand. She brushed through the clustered, grimy strands until they hung somewhat orderly and then flopped on her bed, ignoring the chills creeping up her legs. How could she go without seeing Will? How long would he try to make her?

"Elizabeth?"

A rapping came at her door, along with her father's voice, and Elizabeth quickly rose and flipped the steel lock. She leaned against the nearby wall, barely inhaling.

"Elizabeth, are you in there?"

Now, she couldn't let him think she ran away, could she?

"Yes," Elizabeth said as she returned to her splayed position on her feather mattress. She squeezed her eyes shut. Perhaps she could block out everything he would say... Any apologies he might offer...

"Dear, I know that this may seem unjust to you, but once you enter the circles of society, a certain level of decorum must be demonstrated. Sometimes you must leave people behind. Especially if they drag you down." Governor Swann's words... Although not kind, neither were they cruel. "William Turner is a fine boy," he continued, and Elizabeth huffed at the title.

Boy? He was nearly a man, if not one already. She had heard the depth of Will's tone, seen his muscles flex in his upper torso as he pulled the boat ashore, and found that same consideration for the Governor's daughter as there was three years ago. And now, to call him a _boy_ was an atrocity.

"But he is hardly an appropriate companion anymore." His knuckles cracked against the wooden door again, the doorknob jiggled, and Elizabeth's face flushed and the heat ascended from her toes to her heart.

"And I suppose Lieutenant Norrington is?" she snapped, propping herself up on her elbows and staring at the sealed entryway. At least she had a bit of privacy. He had to understand that James was a fine man... But most certainly not the proper one for her.

"Someone of his status, yes," Governor Swann said.

"Then arrange the marriage and order my trousseau! Wed me to the man who is 'appropriate' to your requirements." She bounded off her bed and flung open her closet door, her slender hands writhing in the voluminous gowns. He didn't even offer an apology for treating her friend so horribly! Oh, his nerve. His fatherly nerve!

"You are not a child anymore, Elizabeth." The doorknob twisted beneath his hand, but Elizabeth stared at her gowns, searching for the smallest skirt and the fastest build. "There are requirements a lady must endure and take in stride, and I am not asking you to abandon Mr. Turner, only to separate to your own circle. You must not be so dramatic."

"It is YOUR circle, Father!"

"Elizabeth, open this door right now."

Elizabeth heard the bang of his shoulder against the door; she had never seen... or rather heard him so enraged. She still managed to scoff at the indignant demand. "No!" she screamed, yanking a tucked away dress and draping it across her plain bedspread.

"Elizabeth, I ask few requests of you, and this is a mere one."

"I'm not decent," she said, resuming her calm exterior as the water boiled inside of her. She could not let him suspect anything. She had to force him to believe this would blow over within a few days. "Leave me for now, Father, and we can speak of this later." It was strange. Usually he was the one who would say that simple sentence... And of course, there was never an outcome. It was just another way of ending an impertinent conversation with his daughter. The subject would perish within the following hours, and Elizabeth would never ask the question again.

_"Father, when will we sail on the seas like you promised?" young Elizabeth would ask._

_"Leave me now, my dear, and we can speak of this later," Governor Swann would say with a sense of solemnity, his eyes barely lifting from whatever he was attached to at the moment._

--

_"Father, were you telling the truth?"_

_"Leave me now, Elizabeth, and we can speak of this later."_

_--_

_"Father, what happened to mother?" a girl would ask in the sweetest and softest tone._

_"Leave me now, my little Lizzie, and we can speak of this later."_

_--_

Ah, yes. She had forgotten. That was why she loathed that little endearment. "Lizzie" was the name Mrs. Swann called her when she was a child... And what her father called her until they started their new lives in Port Royal.

Elizabeth cleared her throat and ambled toward the bedchamber's door, lightly stepping, hoping her father wouldn't hear her shuffling toward him. She leaned against the door, her ear compressed, and her mind still buzzing with that sentence. His leather buckled shoes clicked away, fading until he reached the staircase. She was free.

Elizabeth hastily returned to her bedside and removed fresh undergarments from her dresser drawers, slipping on the basic necessities and quickly slithering into the peach riding habit that spread across her mattress. It lay flatly against the curve of the girl's hips, barely extenuated since she chose to skip the panniers. After lacing her riding boots, the most comfortable of her shoes, the fifteen year old twisted her hair into a quick bun, tied the ribbon of a large hat beneath her chin (to conceal her identity), and trotted out on her balcony, gazing into the bustling city ahead. It was a long way down. Too high to jump and no vines to scale down. Elizabeth turned around, closed the windows again as she glanced to the drooping sun. She must return by dinner. That she was certain of. The girl gripped the doorknob and cautiously peered into the hallway. No maids to be seen. And her father was more than likely dismissing the French artist, if he had not departed by now, or fiddling with new figures in his study. She slinked out of the entryway, a sense of hope and giddiness in her stomach. She had never attempted a full-blown escape...And she thought today would be a fine day for trying.

Elizabeth carefully gazed over the staircase railing, looking into the open drawing room and foyer. She could do this. It was possible, and she knew this was a mission she had to accomplish. After hoisting the riding habit's deflated skirt over her knees, Elizabeth skulked quietly down the staircase, her toes barely grazing the carpet steps and her breaths deep and enduring. She glided out the door into the brilliant sunshine that cascaded over her drying body gracefully. She had made it! She had successfully escape her father's grips. If only she were a character in a novel... Then she might actually meet someone dashing right outside... Preferably if the dashing man resembled William Turner. The woman marched to the small stables and finding a suitable, already saddled mare, she quickly had a stableboy bounce her into the seat and adjust her footing. Wriggling in the uncomfortable side-saddle, Elizabeth found the boy's eyes locked onto her own.

"Are yuh wantin' me to tell the Gov'na that you be out ridin', Miss Swann?"

"No, no, that is not necessary. Let this be our little secret, all right?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes as the young boy nodded. Elizabeth flicked the reins and leaned into the bay mare, her heel digging into the horse's ribs. Sitting upright in the saddle with a broad smile, Elizabeth steered the mare toward the raspy city, alive with laughter, rum, and scuttling men and women, with her eyesight set on the Mr. Brown's shop.

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(OT: Another note. I tried to make this chapter very... romanticish. I wanted Elizabeth to be a little dramatic but also absolutely right... And her escape something she would read of in novels, seeing as she had a way of discovering the real truths of books :D)


	5. Chapter 5: Repaying Mr Turner

(OT: Quite a strange day to update, seeing as it is a Thursday, but it is an update nonetheless! So, this is the final chapter after a long wait. The second break is the merging of point of views of Will and Elizabeth. I hope I captured the um... "new" character in this chapter. Let me know what you think! Hope you enjoy!)

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Will stared at the unfinished sword, its hilt not yet shined and glimmering and its steel blade unbalanced. He then realized his tweed coat was still draped over his arm and he tossed it across the room, his fingers sliding up to his chest and unfastening the buttons. He slipped the stitched waistcoat off his arms and thrust it aside, turning away from the uncompleted sword with a deep sigh. His knee bent and his foot pressed against the wall, his head tilted back, and his eyes closed. Will remembered her gentle touch, the touch that was not rough with calluses like his own hands, and could feel the unblemished smile beneath the mask of white powder, that silly wig toppling over her head. She was so beautiful in every way, but the look he had caused. The look of, "Why did you come? Why did you interrupt?" He knew he had made things worse. He had made her punishment worse, and in turn, had punished himself.

Will tugged at his collar and then unfastened the little white buttons down the v-neck, allowing the slight draft to whip through his linen blouse. He should have held that lovely girl when he had the chance. Told her that he was very fond… Very much in love with Elizabeth. But he had been cowardly and hauled the boat ashore, only to embarrass himself further in front of the governor. Nice going, Mr. Turner. You have achieved absolutely nothing by meeting with Elizabeth Swann. Oh wait, he did achieve becoming separated from Miss Swann for… How long? Probably until she came into the shop with her father again. How wonderful. Will groaned and his eyes flickered open when he heard the fumbling of the latch. He strode toward the incomplete projects, surmising that the person was Mr. Brown, returning from the bar and swaggering for his pay.

"Will," Elizabeth cried, her legs shuffling toward him and her arms outstretched.

The young man glanced up from the sword, his eyes widened, and he turned toward her, admiring her fetching clothing and ruffled hair.

She nearly tackled him, her arms wrapping about his neck and embracing him tautly. Will's hand tentatively responded, patting and then rubbing her riding habit. She pulled back, looked him in the eyes, and then hugged him again, her forehead pressing against his collarbone for a moment.

"Oh, Will," she said. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. My father is such a… Such a wretch!"

William had completely forgotten how she had "abused" him back at the lake, her words harsh and vindictive when he slithered away and her eyes glowering when he returned her shoes. Her hands slid down his muscular arms, he watched her gaze glance at his loose wardrobe, and then she gripped his hands.

"I can't stay long, but I couldn't just let him do that to you."

"Elizabeth, I understand why you father—"

She interjected immediately, her eyebrows furrowing and her head shaking. "No, you should not have to understand. He is wrong. He is so wrong about you and me."

Will watched her lips twitch and felt her pelvis rotate forward, leaning into his legs. They were silent for a moment, just staring at one another… And then, Elizabeth's perfectly-formed lips parted and she tilted her head to one side, inviting him. Will couldn't let the moment crumble as before, so he leaned forward, his lips parting as well.

"Mr. Turner?"

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Oh, dear.

It couldn't possibly be him. Not now. Not when Will was so close to her. Closer than when they were in the water and his breath so hot, so tempting! The rapping came at the door again and she looked to him for reassurance.

"It's the lieutenant," he said. "He has an appointment… Now."

Elizabeth swiped one hand down her cheek. "James? James is here," she whispered. "He can't see me...If he sees us together— Oh my father will have a fit. He just will. Please, you have to hide me." She walked out of his grip and her gaze circled the chamber and spotted a door ajar. "What is that?" she asked.

"My room," Will said quietly, his eyes hurriedly flipping to the door. She could tell that Will did not want her in there, but she still stepped toward the room, her hand on the doorknob with a pleading expression. "Hurry," he added, trotting over to the fifteen year old and closing the oak door behind her.

Elizabeth cautiously ambled into the bedchamber, realizing the cramped quarters would not be difficult to navigate. Unable to see in the dark, she awkwardly pressed her ear to the door and heard Lieutenant Norrington's agitated voice.

"Lieutenant," Will said as the buttoned-up man entered, his wardrobe chic and fashionably designed. He flashed a quick smile, glancing to James' tricorne black hat and his matching wig. What money he must spend on clothes alone. "How are you?"

"I'm very well, Mr. Turner. Do you have my order?"

No hesitation. Straightly business.

There was a pause, a shifting of feet and Elizabeth inhaled lightly as if James could feel her presence. Her hands glided up the door, attempting to hear Will's movements. Please, let him leave quickly.

"Yes." Will trod over to a stacked row of wooden boxes and withdrew the largest, easily hoisting it with both arms and carrying it toward the cleared table. "I apologize for my lack of wardrobe. I had an unfortunate incident earlier." The lieutenant grunted, his gaze only on the weapons. Grasping a nearby crowbar, Will popped open the adorned container and withdrew one of the many smallswords, displaying it to the critical man, his eyes piercing and steadily following William's movements. Lieutenant Norrington grasped the sword and flicked it in his hand, only examining the blade and hilt for a moment before replacing it in its case.

"Ah, thank you," he said. "They look exquisitely done, as always. Pass my compliments to Mr. Brown."

"Of course," Will said, his voice tremoring slightly. His eyes jerked when he heard a crackling behind him, but only saw the old donkey, its gray eyes drooping and its head brushing against the ground futilely, searching for food. He sucked in a breath, thankful that Elizabeth had not emerged spontaneously.

"Mr. Turner," Lieutenant Norrington said. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, just fine." Will bit his lower lip nervously and still surveyed the chamber in suspicion. He could feel the guilt growling; he had never hidden someone, especially a girl. Especially a girl that belonged to someone else.

A defiant clunk and brief clatter abruptly vibrated through the chamber and a quick squeal as well. Will's fists quivered at his sides as James strode past the young man and walked toward the bedchamber. Ah, they were not as free as he thought.

"Who— What are you concealing?" The wrinkle between his brows deepened, and his hand subconsciously grazed against his sword.

"No one," Will croaked, swerving in front of the lieutenant with a wave of his hand. "Mr. Brown. Sleeping. We mustn't disturb him." He cursed himself. Lies. Lies. Miss Swann forcing him to lie to a political figure of all people!

"I passed Mr. Brown in the street. I ask again, Mr. Turner." The name was harsh and grating. "Who are you hiding?"

Another creak came from the bedchamber and then a gasp of breath and a light cough. The jig was up. Miss Elizabeth Swann would be discovered in his room… Possibly on his bed. And he was wearing nothing but his blouse, trousers, and hastily fastened shoes. Oh, this was very bad, indeed. Scandalous, really. They would be shamed. Or worse. Will would be hanged for the deflowerment of the govenor's daughter, when in fact his lips had never even touched hers. Oh of all times. Of all times! Why did she have to fall and why did he feel so compelled to be her rescuer?

"Lieutenant, I—" He cleared his throat, concocting another excuse or an apology or... No, Mr. Brown was the best he had and it was spoiled immediately. Will stuttered a few more times and then, the door flung open, smacking the young man in the head and shoving him forward, his hands, regrettably, flailing against James.

"James," Elizabeth said. It was very inopportune that she had not planned what she was going to say; she had only thought about saving Will from another disastrous encounter with her guardians. Her forehead wrinkled, she straightened her crooked hat, and her fingers flexed in front of her chest, trying to find the words. "I am not supposed to be here."

Will rubbed the back of his head, shooting a glare at Elizabeth before standing alongside the fifteen year old, his face flushed and his hands lightly clasped in front of him. How unfortunate indeed. Ah, he should probably start packing his things. He would be exiled by nightfall.

"No."

"But I am," Elizabeth said, stepping in Norrington's face with a sweet smile. She had to find a way to persuade him not to tell her father, not to punish Will. She refused to be caught doing absolutely nothing. "But only in the friendliest nature toward Will— Mr. Turner."

Very friendly, Will thought. He wondered how the Lieutenant would receive her gentle comments, so kindly arranged and her eyelashes fluttering. She certainly knew a way to a man's heart.

"Elizabeth," he said. Will stared at the man, puzzled by the familiarity. He could hardly force himself to call the girl by her Christian name, but then again… Will wasn't tacitly arranged to marry James Norrington. "I find it extremely odd that you would be hiding in Mr. Turner's bedchamber."

"Well, I was so afraid, you see." Sympathy. She had to strike on sympathy. "I did not mean any harm, and we were just conversing, but if my father knew… Oh my, he would be quite alarmed." She patted his jacket, twisting her face in a frown and then began to pace quietly, her skirt flapping lightly and swirling up dust.

"Frankly, I am alarmed," he whispered, barely loud enough for William to hear.

"Please, James," she said. "I couldn't bear to have the town thinking I am a _strumpet_." Elizabeth watched his eyebrows arch and could nearly hear his stomach lurch. Satisfaction was quite pleasurable, she found. "And they would think of me that way if you tell my father that I was here, unescorted and discovered in a compromisable position." She downcast her eyes, watching James' glistening feet tap a few times before feeling the wide gesture of his arm and the soft touch of his hand on her shoulder.

"Very well, but you must promise to leave now."

"Yes, whatever you say, Lieutenant." She grinned as he backed away slowly, glowered at William for a brief second, slung the container of weapons beneath his arm and marched out the gaping doorway.

"That was brilliant," Will said, beaming at the lady, who crossed her legs and curtsied, giggling and tilting back her head.

"Oh, I did not think it would work! But it was so easy." She clasped her hand together and then threw her figure toward Will, gliding straight into his embrace and stroking his fuzzy face. "Thank you, Will. For saving me. For being my friend. Everything."

He smiled, his hands lightly grasping her tiny waist, his fingers drumming against the peach material. "Anytime, Elizabeth," he whispered, her name caressing his tongue.

"I must…" She stared at him, her lips squeezing together before she finished. "I must repay you."

"That really isn't nes—"

Her pouted, smooth lips grazed against his own, both hands on his face, covering part of his ears, and her forearms pressed against his chest. He kissed back, dipping his arm around her, pulling her closer, but then, Elizabeth was gliding away with a mischievous, slightly guilty grin upon her lips. She gathered the folds of his white shirt in each hand, tugged frivolously, cocked a half-smile and then trotted away from him, her breath short and rapid and Will's matching her pace. The fifteen year old glanced over her shoulder, her hair clustered around her blushing cheeks and then she took off in a gallop, slinging on top of her horse and riding back to the mansion.

Will stood there for a moment, unable to move, unable to think or speak or respond. And then he walked back toward the unfinished sword and broadly smiled.

Perhaps he should save Miss Swann more often.

_FIN_


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